


In The Morning You'll Be Ok

by Fairycub



Category: CHASM (band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry is sad and sick and wants Mitch and Mitch doesn't mind, M/M, Mitch is a good friend, Not really Hitch but also Hitch, Sick Harry, Sickfic, Vomit, vomiting (not graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 12:00:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15364203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairycub/pseuds/Fairycub
Summary: Mitch. Just get to Mitch. Everything would be okay once he was with Mitch.Harry is sick on tour, and he has a fever, and his hotel room is too empty.





	In The Morning You'll Be Ok

**Author's Note:**

> Another one I wrote a little while ago and decided to type up for y'all. Sickfics are my jam and I love early stage Hitch so much.

Harry could have sworn he’d just fallen asleep. He remembered the bumpy, too long, too loud car ride from the arena to the hotel, even though he’d fallen asleep somewhere along the way. He half remembered lightly bumping his head on the car window as they’d stopped outside the hotel’s back entrance. He remembered being surprised when there weren’t any fans outside waiting for him. It was a nice surprise though, he wouldn’t have been able to keep his eyes open for long enough to greet any of them, and he always felt mean when he just kept walking. He definitely remembered Mitch’s big hands, both of them, one on each shoulder as he hunched over at the car door, squeezing his shoulders ever so lightly, telling him where they were and telling him he had to wake up and come inside.

He’d helped him up, and he could recall feeling like he was floating, not really knowing where he was putting his feet and hoping that Mitch did. Otherwise they were both screwed. He’d leaned heavily on Mitch as they rode the elevator up up up to the top floor, maybe the second top floor, Harry didn’t remember that. He also didn’t remember the process of getting from the car to the elevator and from the elevator to his room. He must have though. 

From then, his memories were like a series of flash cards, jumbled in the wrong order. Brushing his teeth, new toothbrush, left his old one at the arena on accident. Boiling the kettle, cup of tea after a show, always. Standing at the door with Mitch, fumbling over his room key, front pants pocket. Mitch had gotten it out for him after a second of hesitation that had burned a bit. Not making a cup of tea, he hadn’t wanted it anymore. Opening the door. “I’m just tired Mitch I’m fine.” Closing the door. Harry on one side and Mitch on the other. “I’m next door if you need anything.” Anything. Yeah. Falling into bed. Yes. Bed. Where he was still, now. In… which city? Didn’t really matter. Why was he awake? He could have sworn those memories were from minutes ago. Only his phone said he had no messages and it was 3.17am and it definitely hadn’t been that late when he’d gotten home. No, not home, back to the hotel. Hotel wasn’t home. Home was with mum and Gemma in Holmes Chapel or in L.A. with Mitch. Mitch. Where was Mitch? Not in bed with him, because they weren’t together like that and it made Harry’s chest feel tight and the light from his phone was making his head hurt.

Only when he stopped thinking about Mitch and locked his phone and closed his eyes his chest didn’t stop feeling tight and his head didn’t stop pounding and his stomach started twisting. Yuck. He kicked his blankets off because they felt sticky with sweat and it must have been his because there was nobody else there and everything felt too hot. He rolled onto his side, feeling around for his water bottle. He took a sip. It wasn’t cold anymore, which made sense but it still sucked because he wanted to cool down. He could feel it sliding all the way from his mouth to his belly and it just made his stomach feel more uncomfortable instead of calm like he’d hoped. He reached up and wiped a thin film of sweat from his forehead, except now he was shivering. He could only briefly remember not being very hungry at dinner time, everyone else had had pasta but he’d only had a piece of fruit, and he’d only had that because he knew he wouldn’t make it through a full show on an empty stomach.

It didn’t matter exactly what, or how much he’d eaten, his stomach was still upset with him for it. He felt a bead of sweat drop off his temple onto the pillow as nausea made itself known. Harry cursed, not even making an effort to whisper. Nobody would hear him. He wondered if he should cry. Nobody had to know, and it might make him feel a bit better. Those thoughts were brought to a grinding halt, however, when his stomach gave him the signal that he should get himself to a bathroom, quickly, or his dinner would be making a surprise reappearance on the floor. He barely managed to grab his phone as he leapt up, slamming it onto the counter beside the toilet before he fell to his knees, wincing. He’d fallen on his way to the B stage a few nights earlier and they still hurt. He was glad the lid was up, or else there would have been a mess to clean up. 

He threw up, a feeling he hated more than anything else in the world. It hurt and tasted disgusting and he couldn’t control it, which was worse than anything else. It felt like hours of his stomach letting him know just how pissed off it was at him for taking that sip of water. It was probably only a few minutes though, but he heaved for a long time before his body decided that no, there was really nothing left to come up, letting him catch his breath. He moaned to himself, allowing himself to be loud, resting his arm across the toilet seat, resting his head on top. He wasn’t entirely sure he was done being sick. He hoped he was.

He waited it out for a few minutes, deciding it was finally safe to lean back against the wall, hugging his knees. The tile floor was freezing and he was sure he had a fever. He still didn’t really know how being too hot made you feel cold. He reached for his phone. It was only just past 3.30, somehow. He groaned. He just wanted to go back to bed.

He thought he should probably call Adam. He was the oldest and he had kids so he’d know what to do. Plus he might even be able to give him some medicine to at least knock him out until he wasn’t dying anymore. But he didn’t want to call Adam, really. He didn’t even want to call his Mum. He didn’t want to call anybody. He wanted Mitch. He wanted Mitch to come into his room and tuck him into bed and tell him everything was okay. He wanted him to kiss his forehead and hold him and stay holding him forever. Or until he felt better, at least.

Suddenly, Harry felt very alone, and afraid, and small. He was sick, in a big empty hotel room, all by himself, in a city that he couldn’t remember anything about, but he knew it wasn’t home. 

His head pounded as he tried to stand up, and he watched the edges of his vision blur a little bit. He wouldn’t faint though. He had a mission, and his mission was Mitch. Well, to get to Mitch. He was right next door and he _had_ said he’d be there if he needed anything. This definitely fell under the category of anything. He steadied himself against the counter as the world tilted to one side. Mitch. Just get to Mitch. Everything would be okay once he was with Mitch.

He used the wall as a guide to the door, managing to find the handle after a second of blind groping. He practically fell into the hallway. He caught himself before his head hit the ground, which was good because he didn’t need a head injury on top of whatever the hell he’d picked up from whichever fan had still come to the show while sick. He’d scraped his knuckles on the floor when he’d caught himself, resulting in some nasty carpet burn. He whimpered and crouched on the floor for a moment, because if he stood up right now he’d just fall straight back down. 

Somehow, he found the strength to push himself upright again, stumbling to Mitch’s door. He looked drunk, and he felt a bit like he was drunk too, but he didn’t want Mitch to think he was drunk, because he wasn’t. He was about to knock when to his surprise, the door swung open on its own. Not on its own though, because he’d fallen over again but he wasn’t on the ground, he was leaning against Mitch’s t shirt which was on Mitch. A very sleepy, very disheveled Mitch had caught him, not looking overly thrilled. He did look concerned though, which was nice. Harry righted himself as much as he could and looked up at him, hoping he wasn’t mad.  
“Not drunk…” he mumbled. Mitch smiled tiredly.  
  
“Mmhm. You sure?”  
  
“Mm. Not drunk. Sick…” he cleared his throat because it sounded like he’d been gargling nails. It didn’t help. Mitch frowned, not hesitating to press his cupped palm to Harry’s forehead. Felt nice, Harry thought. His hand was big and soft and cold and it was doing a pretty good job of soothing his apparent fever. He could see Mitch’s frown deepen though. Not good, then. 

“Was sick…” he mumbled, and he felt Mitch’s hand twist around to rest on the back of his neck.  
  
“Thought I heard someone pukin’ their guts out. Would have come over if I’d known it was you.” His smile was sympathetic and warm and made Harry lean closer to him. He didn’t care that he did, and neither did Mitch. This was okay and fine and normal because Harry was sick so it was allowed for now. Until his fever went away, probably.

“What’re you doin’ wandering the halls at 4am with a fever like that? Thought you might’ve been drunk and trying to find someone. Thought I heard you fall too, that’s why I got up.” he said. His voice was barely a whisper, but everything was silent and Harry heard him just fine.

“I did.” was all Harry said, looking at the backs of his knuckles, red and raw and still stinging. Mitch cocooned Harry’s hand with his own, and his knuckles didn’t sting anymore.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” Mitch said suddenly, letting go of his hands, and all the warmth left Harry’s body. He shifted his feet slightly, but none of them made a move to go anywhere.  
  
“Wanted um… to sleep with you.” Harry said sheepishly, maybe tiredly, rubbing his eye and looking at the ground.  
“Oh.”

Mitch moved aside, out of the doorway, and Harry took it as an invitation to properly come inside. He heard the door close behind him, and found the bed. Mitch’s room was smaller than Harry’s. He felt a bit bad about it, but he could always stay in Harry’s room if he wanted to. There was plenty of space.

One side of the bed looked significantly less slept in than the other so Harry chose that side to slip under the covers and get comfortable. It was hard when Mitch was still up, wandering around the room. He took his time getting back to bed, getting Harry a bottle of water, and a towel for some reason, putting the small bin from the bathroom beside the bed, in case he threw up again, Harry thought, and covered him with another blanket. He must have noticed he was shivering. Harry wasn’t sure if he should have that many blankets if he had a fever but it felt better being warmer so he didn’t care. Harry watched him as he collected everything, wondering if he was stalling and didn’t want to sleep with him. Not sleep-sleep with him, though maybe Harry wanted that too, but just sleep, in the same bed, with him. But then he slipped into bed beside Harry, turning out the lamp and whispering “goodnight” and staring at the ceiling. Harry studied his face. The only light in the room was from the streetlamps outside, but his eyes had adjusted to the darkness after a second. Mitch didn’t look that okay even though Harry was the one that was sick.

“I… I can go back to my own room if you want me to.” Harry offered though he didn’t want to at all. Mitch stayed as still as he could. He didn’t want to make a wrong move or touch the wrong thing or turn the wrong way.  
  
“No, it’s fine.” He promised, half closing his eyes. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Yeah. Just feeling sick…” Harry fiddled with the hem of his shirt. He pulled a thread which was stupid because now a bit of hem fell below the rest and it was his favourite shirt and he’d never learned to sew.  
  
“You have a fever.” Mitch told him.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Oh.”

Harry watched his eyes slip closed and his window of opportunity was closing with them. He didn’t want to miss his chance.

“Mitch?”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
“You uh… you can say no but…” Harry trailed off. He didn’t want him to say no. Mitch opened his eyes again, finally looking at him.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Could… could we cuddle? I’m just…” he was about to back pedal, explain that he felt very home sick, and regular sick, and that he was cold and the blankets weren’t doing enough and just wanted someone to hold him, please, when Mitch spoke.

“Yeah, sure.”

Harry felt his insides jump, in a good way this time, wriggling a little closer to Mitch. Mitch slipped his arm under his head, as he rolled onto his side, letting his other arm drape across Harry’s middle.

“Is this ok?” Harry heard him speak, but he almost hadn’t noticed. He was lost in his thoughts, because Mitch was really in bed with him. Harry was actually in his arms, both of them were around Harry and Harry could smell his soap and his deodorant and the shampoo, which must have belonged to the hotel, that he’d used for his after-show shower, and his t shirt was soft and well worn and probably ten years old. He buried his head into the space between his neck and his shoulder and it was nice and soft and not too warm on his forehead. He curled his legs up so that his knees were resting against Mitch’s thighs and he felt Mitch’s warm breath all the way down the back of his neck, and he nodded because despite being sick he’d never felt this ok in his life.

“Ok.” Mitch hushed, and Harry felt him say it because Mitch’s lips were ghosting the top of his head. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.” 

And Mitch pulled the covers up around Harry’s chin, sighing into his hair, pulling him ever so slightly closer. Harry trusted his words and closed his eyes, feeling sleep coming easily because he knew that for the first time in as long as he could remember, that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I fixed the formatting (not really but Eli stop bullying me now) and it ended just like all the other ones I've written do because unrequited love makes me hurt too much. Also if you have any requests for C.H.A.S.M fics (not just hitch anything but especially sickfics eyy) let me know or hmu over on tumblr I'm Fairycub there too x


End file.
